


Never Comes the Day.

by ThePoetess



Category: Les Miserables
Genre: Cute Courfeyrac, Frantic Prouvaire, Gen, Hate, Loss, Love, Pain, Panic, Peaceful Protest, Poetry, Revolution, enjoltaire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 07:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12526404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePoetess/pseuds/ThePoetess
Summary: General Lamarque's funeral ends in tragedy.





	1. A Question of Balance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Lamarque's funeral ends in tragedy.

A frantic Etienne Courfeyrac took a deep breath and pushed through the panicked crowd as he looked around for Florent Joly. 

He needed to find Joly! 

"Florent!? Florent!? Where are you!!!?" He knew Joly wouldn't like that, but, frankly, Courfeyrac didn't care, he'd hear about it later. 

Stupid stupid stupid - Courfeyrac groaned, Combeferre was going to be so very angry if Joly got hurt because of Courfeyrac's idiotic idea. 

And, it was always his idiotic ideas that got his friends into trouble. 

Look! Damn you Courf! Look!? Look!? Look anywhere!!!? Just look! Find Joly! Goddamn you!? Find him! Let him be okay!? Oh god!? Let him -

There! In the panicked throngs a bobbing brown haired head in the crowd, taller than most and looking frantically about with the look of pitiable panic crossing his boyish features, the wide brown eyes "Courfeyrac!? Courfeyrac!? Etienne!? Etienne!? Etienne!!!?" He couldn't see him. 

Courfeyrac stumbled to a light post and hefted himself above the crowd. 

"Joly!?" The bullets were picking people off with a horrid ease, like shooting fish in a barrel, thought Courfeyrac as he kept his gaze on his panicked friend "Joly! Joly!" He couldn't hear him!!! He rolled his eyes, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled loudly through the chaotic noise, and, to his happiness, Joly saw him and waved, putting on a brave face. 

Courfeyrac watched him struggle towards the lamppost through the screaming mass of people. 

He was nearly there when the bullets found him. 

Courfeyrac registered the shock and pain on Joly's face and watched as Florent Joly went down in the stampeding crowds. 

He could only watch, could do nothing else as the bullets ricocheted into the crowd. 

He clung to that lamppost with numb fingers, as if the metal post was a life raft and he a only survivor in a storm torn sea. 

He stood there with fear rooting him there and with a deep pain numbing his bloody left leg. 

He couldn't see Joly anymore, knew he'd gone down, he couldn't see him, didn't wish to, couldn't bring himself to think that dear Joly was - was - no - not dead - certainly not dead. Please!!!? Not, dead. 

He saw a face, a stark white face against blood washed paving stones. 

Florent Joly was lying face looking desperately into the sky as he lay in a crimson pool of his blood. 

Courfeyrac watched in horror as Joly twitched feebly and then fell still. 

No! It couldn't be! It can't end this way! No! 

Courfeyrac didn't even duck behind anything as the bullets flew, he stood, rooted there under the lamppost in fear, until fear was extinguished by anger, which, rendered him blind to his mortality. 

Dragging his wounded leg behind, he didn't think and moved into the panicked masses towards Joly, who was now face down on the pavement. 

"Courfeyrac!?" Someone was yelling from the crowd, that someone was - 

A strong hand gripped Courfeyrac's bruised shoulder and got Courfeyrac's elbow slamming back into their face, they managed to keep hold of Courfeyrac and Adrian Bahorel pulled Courfeyrac away, towards the Musain, fighting against the crowd at every step, towards relative safety.

Courfeyrac could hear himself distantly yelling Joly's name into the cold June mid morning air as Bahorel lugged him through the open door of Cafe Musain. 

Courfeyrac stumbled and crumbled to his knees on the the wooden floor, the numb pain in his knee throbbing now. 

He heard the door snap shut. 

"Fuck man!" Bahorel rounded on him angrily "You fucking -" "Bahorel!" Francois Feuilly snapped as out of usual character than Enjolras giving a smile "Leave him alone Bahorel, can't you see he is distressed!? Or are you blind to other people's pain!?" Bahorel shoved Feuilly angrily and the fighting ensued, prompting Sebastian Enjolras to swiftly intervene. 

Bahorel apologized to Feuilly and Courfeyrac. 

"Sorry man, but, running out into the stampeding crowd, that's just dumb." 

"Are you okay?" Someone knelt and cradled Courfeyrac in their arms "You okay Courf?" That was Jehan Prouvaire. 

Courfeyrac looked up and his eyes fell on Jaques Boussuet huddled with Francois Feuilly at the bar. Oh god, oh god! Oh god! No. 

"Joly?" He mumbled and looked to Prouvaire who shook his head frantically and whispered brokenly "No." 

Courfeyrac felt a sharp pain in his leg and looked down to see Julian Combeferre inspecting it with a doctor's distaste "Stay still?" He spat at Courfeyrac through a grimace "Courfeyrac stay still!?" Forcefully said, reluctantly followed. 

Joly. Oh god no. 

Combeferre dug in his med - no - in Joly's med bag. 

"What happened?" Courfeyrac addressed Sebastian Enjolras. 

"A open declaration of revolution." Enjolras whistled to Emeric Grantaire who ran to Enjolras's side "You called? I come." Grantaire rocked on his heels expectantly "Yes Apollo?" Enjolras held up his bleeding left hand and snapped his fingers "Wine!?" Grantaire checked his ears belligerently "No need to shout Apollo, I might be dumb, but, I'm not deaf you know." Enjolras scowled as Grantaire nodded at him "You got some pain to drown Apollo?" Enjolras let the Apollo comment slide and sighed "Yes Grantaire, is it so unbelievable?" 

Emeric Grantaire handed everyone in turn a glass of wine and raised his high while with a cracking voice he said softly "To our friend, Fl-Flor-Florent J-ol-y." And then Grantaire burst out crying and slammed his fists on the table top until they bled, he was wailing like a banshee. 

After Grantaire, all hell broke loose.


	2. Bottom of a Deep Blue Sea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is grieving Joly's death.  
> Feuilly smashes a lot of wine bottles and flower pots, while Grantaire tries to save them from destruction.  
> Bahorel smashes a lot of chairs.  
> Enjolras tries to hide his emotions.

"Fu-ck! Fu-ck you Florent Joly! - Fuck!!!" That was Jehan Prouvaire, putting aside his usually perfect and large vocabulary to use, instead, a few choice words he had learned from ten long years of knowing Adrian Bahorel and, on occasion, Boussuet De Maux. 

"Fu-ck! Fuck! Joly!" Courfeyrac looked about him, at all the grieving faces. 

Adrian Bahorel was busily breaking a chair onto the ground, while Feuilly was smashing all the flower pots and wine glasses. 

Boussuet was just crying.

Enjolras alone was hiding behind a calm facade. 

Sipping wine from the only glass left unsmashed by Feuilly, he sat at the table in the middle of the room with chaos playing out around him. 

Combeferre was crying while he sewed up Courfeyrac's wound and Jehan Prouvaire looked blankly at a forbidden and well worn dog eared copy of Andre Chenier, Joly had spent his last Sous tracking down at Christmas, a prized gift he had given Jehan. 

He watched Feuilly grab Enjolras's glass which was half full of wine and smash it. 

He didn't think anyone of his friends would react so terribly to the news of his death, but, Joly was different - the designated pet of the Les Amis de L'ABC - the little brother - the confidant- the one Courfeyrac could go and complain to if Enjolras made him angry - the one he could tell anything to, even things he didn't even tell Combeferre- he could tell kind hearted Joly without fear of judgement - Joly - the light and happiness seemed sucked from the room without him. 

Combeferre was done and happy with his work. 

He inspected it one last time and nodded with a tight lipped grimace. 

"It'll do." "Combeferre?" Courfeyrac gripped the other mans wrist "Combeferre?" Combeferre didn't meet his eyes "It'll do, don't move too much," Courfeyrac tightened pressure on Combeferre's wrist " 'Ferre?" Combeferre met his eyes "It'll do, for now." Feuilly smashed another pot. 

Bahorel broke another chair. 

Marius Pontmercey in the corner sniffled. 

The room felt devoid of oxygen, Courfeyrac felt as if he was breathing at the bottom of a deep blue sea.

Grantaire rescued his wine bottle from Feuilly's hands before it was smashed. 

Boussuet and Musichetta were screaming angrily as they sat at the bar. 

Eponine was beside Marius and was quietly sobbing. 

Enjolras stood up and looked grimly towards Courfeyrac "Get up and lead me to Joly?" 

Courfeyrac blanched, yet, stood up and went to the door just as it opened.

A bloody young man stood in the doorway. 

Surveying the scene with confusion "Courf!? What is happening here!? Have you all gone mad!?"

Courfeyrac just stared. 

It was as if he had seen a ghost.


	3. Middle Fingers and Javert or Joly Doesn't Care Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joly flips Javert the middle finger when Javert arrives to question Enjolras about the funeral of Lamarque and arrest him,  
> Courfeyrac and Gavroche get into trouble,  
> Jehan falls in love with Marius's girlfriend, Cosette, Grantaire starts painting again, and sculpting Greek statues of Apollo out of butter, Enjolras gets back with Patria, to the regret and sorrow of Grantaire, Combeferre plays mother hen, Bahorel calms down, Boussuet pops the question, to everyone's surprise, Marius and Eponine get wasted and end up together,  
> And Feuilly smashes more things while talking about Polish politics.

Two days later.

A badly bruised and beaten Florent Joly leaned coolly against Jaques Boussuet's shoulder as they sat together at their usual table at the usual time and drank their usual amount of wine and talked to their usual drinking partner, Emeric Grantaire.

Emeric Grantaire, who was not listening to anything they said as he sculpted the large thing of cold butter into a miniature statue of Apollo. 

He'd conspicuously hidden the large flag of butter behind the Enjolras - he meant - Apollo, statue - it wasn't Enjolras, it was Apollo, he didn't look even similar to the blonde haired revolutionary leader that had - Emeric Grantaire stared blankly up at Joly "Wha-t?"

Joly smiled softly, it still hurt to smile and whenever he moved he'd let out a whine of pain as the bullet wounds twinged as he moved "You were doing it again 'Taire," "Wha-t?" "Staring." 

Joly stood up and bit back a loud gasp of pain "I think you have a lot of talent for butter sculpting Grantaire, maybe though, just maybe you should put that Enjolras sculpture in the freezer before his beautiful face melts and he loses his revolutionary zeal." Joly looked up as Inspector Javert entered with the customary scowl on his unsatisfied features "Can I help you?" Javert scowled "I'm looking for Sebastian Enjolras." A gasp followed this and Joly stepped forward gingerly and asked slowly "What do you want him for? If I may ask?" 

Javert scowled again "He is under arrest for conspiring to start a revolution." Grantaire stood up and Boussuet held him back before he could lunge over the table at Javert. 

Joly laughed "Then you'll have to arrest all of us, we are in on it too." 

Javert stepped forward towards a recently arrived Sebastian Enjolras and Patria, his girlfriend. 

"Sebastian Enjolras?" Javert flipped his badge. 

He then handcuffed Enjolras and led him towards the door. 

Joly stepped into the doorway and flipped his middle finger in the police inspectors face "What the fuck do you think you are doing inspector Javert?" Courfeyrac looked up from the table where he had been playing cards with Bahorel, the cards laying abandoned on the table. 

He made eye contact with Bahorel who cursed. 

Oh shi- 

Javert made a move to get around Joly, only to have the boy flip him off again and step into the doorway "Police inspectors think they own everything and everyone, think they're better than everyone, cause they have a piece of metal they can flash in people's faces," he leaned against the doorframe "But, here's the thing inspector, here's the thing about equality, everyone's equal when they're dead." Joly's middle finger was still up and held in Javert's angry face. 

"Joly," Enjolras cautioned and Joly hissed "I don't give a damn Enj, we came here to change the world, to stand up for justice, well to hell with your misled justice and stupid rules inspector, I've f-ing had it, let Enjolras go, now."

Courfeyrac stood up and grabbed Joly's shoulder "Joly calm down?" Joly shook his head "No, Courf, I've had it, had it being pushed around by the police, fuck the political parties and the police who don't protect the people and -" Joly took Enjolras's hands in his "Go on Javert? Cuff me as well, take me to prison, cause I'm with Enjolras, I don't care what happens, lock me up cause I'm just as revolutionary as he is and I don't care anymore what happens." Javert scowled at him "What is your name boy?" Joly looked right back at him "I'm no boy, and I'm no man scared of his own shadow, neither, I'm no whipping boy, and I have a right to free speech, we all do, so come back with a warrant or not at all. Oh, and my names Florent Joly."

The room fell silent.

What the heck had just happened!? Had Joly gone mad!?


End file.
